


Your Heart Shall Burn

by LeGayWardens



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Beer, Cockblocking, Cullen cockblocks, Dalish Elves, M/M, Masturbation, POV Dorian Pavus, Unrequited Love, earwigs, erotic fantasy, sap, unnamed Inquisitor, wingman Cole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeGayWardens/pseuds/LeGayWardens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are 48 copies of Hard in Hightown missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart Shall Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Dorian just wants to get to know the Inquisitor.

The mages weren’t a strong battle trained force like the Templars, their aid to the Inquisition would be limited. But the Inquisitor, proud and a little gangly with his awkward posture that made him look both meek and intimidating, listened to Dorian’s every word as they travelled from Redcliffe to Haven.

“Cullen isn’t going to like this…” he said, running a hand through his neatly parted ruby coloured hair.

The mage smirked as they entered the war room.

It was the most he ever managed to say to the Inquisitor. They spoke briefly when they returned to Haven, but always business and not pleasure. He wanted to know about Tevinter and about mages and magisters and elven slaves, the latter topic made Dorian uncomfortable, but the Inquisitor surprised him.

“I guess you’re right. It’s better to have a chance to escape poverty than none at all, even if it means slavery.”

“The proper term would be servitude, Herald.”

The Inquisitor winced and suddenly that potions master was telling the Inquisitor about these new formulas requiring more elfroot than a Dalish forest could possess. It was always like that. The Inquisitor was running errands for people whose faces blurred and didn’t mean much to him. Since setting up in Skyhold, Dorian wanted to thank him, for his help with Felix and allowing Alexius to continue his research which struck a sour note across half of the Inquisition; for providing troops and intelligence on his investigation into the Venatori and for helping the mages even though the Templars are the superior fighting force.  But he could never get him alone and in the event he did, Helisima would bother Lavellan or Leliana or Solas or Fiona, even the blasted ravens got more attention than he did what with Dorian waking up at ungodly hours in the morning because of squawking birds being fed by the Herald himself.

Things were looking up when they went to meet Dorian’s father in Redcliffe. His support, his kindness, his compassion, his witty humour that made Halward assume Dorian joined the Inquisition because he was in the Inquisitor's bed…completely unparalleled. But once they got back to Skyhold, the Inquisitor was illusive once again.

And now the Iron Bull was flirting with him - with both of them. The Inquisitor would laugh and brush him off, but the Qunari’s innuendo ruffles Dorian’s feathers. He downed a few pints of god awful ale at the tavern and got a large Qunari hand slapping down on his thigh.

“You look down, Vint.”

Dorian snorted, “This is the quality that the Inquisition can afford. If they served better ale here I might be more spirited.”

The Iron Bull smiled crookedly, “I know what you need.” He said and the mage could swear he winked (or was it blinked? He only has one eye…).

Rolling his eyes, he dropped a few coppers and silvers on the bar and left, a little wobbly on his feet. Walking up stairs while blissfully drunk and upset was a feat, and if Skyhold were to have a shortage on anything, it wouldn’t be stairs. He tripped a few times, cursing in Tevene as he half crawled up the stairs to his little nook in the library, sure that he’d wake up with bruises ripe like a wormed Orlesian apple.

Collapsing into his chair he sighed, one hand working on the buckles over his chest. How much longer was it going to take until his room was finally set up? Here he was stuck in a library with fifty-two darn copies of Hard in Hightown glaring at him on the shelf beside his desk. He needed to find some sort of excuse to get rid of them, or at least have them moved far away from him.

“Oh.”

Books fell and Dorian snapped his eyes open and jumped to his feet.

“Inquisitor.” He said, shouted, “You…surprised me.”

The elf smiled, “I can say the same about you.”

They stood in confused silence for a moment before Dorian noticed the books on the floor and bent over to pick them up.

“Sorry for startling you, Inquisitor.”

“Oh no, I can do that.” He protested and their hands touched over a book.

The Inquisitor apologised and Dorian smiled as they stood, “The marvellous Herald of Andraste and my, what a soft touch he has.”

The elf smirked, “Except for when it counts.”

Dorian froze, did he just? Maybe it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t stop himself “Are you flirting with me, Inquisitor?”

He laughed, blue eyes sparkling in the silver moonlight, “Oh Dorian…there’d be no Inquisition without you.”

Now the mage was confused, “Stating the obvious, but I do admire the flattery.”

The elf shook his head, “And that’s why you’re a valued member of the Inquisition.” He pointed to the books in Dorian’s hands, “They’re the books you’ve requested. Leliana’s spies were able to infiltrate the Archon’s private records.”

“Really?” Dorian’s brows raised, “You did all that for me? I…I thank you, Inquisitor.”

He looked away, was that a hint of bashfulness Dorian detected? “Your cause is just, Dorian. I’m confident that you have the Inquisition’s best interests at heart. Besides, it wouldn’t be truthful if I said this didn’t benefit the Inquisition.”

Of course, it must have been the alcohol getting Dorian’s hopes up that the Inquisitor saw him as more than just a travel partner and resident fire-bombing necromancer.

“I’ll be sure to get to work right away. Just, maybe not tonight. I’ve had around a dozen too many ales.”

The Inquisitor looked at him, “A…dozen too many?” he asked, expression humoured and a little appalled, “But it tastes awful.”

Dorian laughed, “Well if the Inquisitor can start stocking some Tevinter brandy in his tavern, I’d be a much happier drunk.”

“You’re pretty composed for a drunk.”

“Hah! I’ve lived half my life intoxicated. The most it does now is make me a bit unsteady on my feet and I’d probably accidentally set myself on fire in battle. Also, I’m much more likely to do things I’ll regret in the morning.”

“At least your wit is intact. That’s something.”

The mage smiled, “Not if we had Fereldan whiskey. My guilty pleasure, possibly the only piece of finery here in the South. Aside from yourself of course.”

The Inquisitor coughed, “Uh…yes.”

Dorian swore under his breath and turned to the books in his hands. _Yes, yes, go back to what you were talking about. The blasted Herald of Andraste and here you are sounding like a hungry druffalo that hasn’t mounted something in the past month._ The gold Tevene letters glittered back at him, but one book, a smaller book, written in the standard human language drew his eye. He…didn’t request this.

“Tevinter poetry?” he looked at the Herald who frowned at first then stammered.

“Uh…yeah…um.” He grabbed the book from Dorian who could have sworn the elf was going red.

“You like poetry?”

The elf chewed his lip, “Well I…”

“Your Worship?” The men froze as Cullen ascended the stairs, “There you are. Sorry to disturb you so late, but we have a new report coming in from the South. A group of Avaar have taken some of our men hostage and- Oh.” he looked at the frowning Tevinter, “Was I uh…interrupting?”

“No, I was just leaving. As you were saying, Commander?”

And just like that, the Inquisitor slipped from Dorian again.

He slept off his hangover and ventured out of the castle and stood against the short wall overlooking where the carriages were loaded and the armoured horses were strung by the hold’s gate. Sera sat on the stone wall next to him and snorted.

“Look at ‘im. All primed and pomp with his shiny boots on, ey? Surprised he didn’t ask you to go along.”

“What’s this all about?”

“Them Avaar in that place, the Fallow Mire, one of them thinks they can knock one on the Herald. Got some of our friends too, locked them in some fortress and want to take the Inquisitor’s head home for the lives of our little people.”

Dorian blinked, “Well if you ask me, I’m mildly grateful that I wasn’t brought along to fight to the death against a group of blood thirsty Avaar.”

Sera smiled, “Are you sweet?”

If he hadn’t just woken up moments ago he would have laughed instead he turned to her and said rather incredulously, “Am I sweet?”

“On the Herald.” Dorian’s chest tightened and every muscle in his body seized up as she turned to him, “I know you, people like you, like us, yeah.”

He licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to act cool with a small part of him wondering why his palms were suddenly sweaty. With his natural charm and grace he cocked a sly smile, “You really need to start making more sense, dear.”

“Oh pthbt!”

“Blowing raspberries at me. Charming.”

Sera punched his arm which shocked the mage, he was only just getting used to the girl’s hmm…unbridled mannerisms, “What I mean is, you’re like me. We like people that have the same bits as us, yeah. And I think you’re having it in for the Herald. Getting fat for him.”

Dorian’s jaw dropped and after some pause and Sera’s discerning glower judging him a little too much he cleared his throat, “I believe you are mistaken. I…Maker I don’t even know the Inquisitor’s name, how could I…no!”

Sera shrugged, “Heh…alrighty then. Suit yerself.” She mumbled and turned back to the commotion below them, “Oi…You notice he’s always bringing Iron Bull along with him, yeah? I reckon they’re doing it. Or at least, Varric thinks so too.”

Was that comment she made really necessary? The Inquisitor and Iron Bull? No…he rarely saw the two of them together, Bull was always busy training his chargers and flirting with whoever in the tavern, and the Inquisitor...he was the Inquisitor. Rarely left his quarters where he spent most of his time filling out reports, then he’d tend to his seedlings in the courtyard, spend some time elevating morale, fill out requisitions, allocate troops and scout teams, discuss advances with his advisors and then tend to 100 issues at once ranging from the petty to the world changing. Oh yeah, he knew his schedule.

And here was Dorian, sitting in the Inquisitor’s library looking for lost answers to vague questions on Corypheus’ past life as an Ancient Tevinter magister. Hardly world changing, and often feeling like a right shoe stuck on a left foot. He was the son of a magister from a villainous nation, a disowned son, more or less, who spent most of his life under a table, drunk, or trying to wiggle himself into another man’s pants. He had to admit, he did have a soft spot for the Inquisitor. For elves actually. And that thought alone made him feel sick as his ancestors were responsible for their enslavement and the eradication of Elven history.

He was a man not free from sin. What good was it in hoping, even a small bit, that the Inquisitor would like to befriend him? Befriend? Dorian scoffed. He didn’t want to befriend the Inquisitor. He wanted him, on his knees right now, doing sinful things with his mouth while Dorian read through mundane sections of the magisterium records. 

He groaned, “Oh Maker, strike me down.”

The moon was hanging high already and the Inquisitor had been gone for almost a week. He was left with his thoughts, distracting him from his research the longer the Inquisitor was gone. His deep red hair tousled against silk sheets with the faintest blush dusting his pale cheeks. Dorian close enough to count every little capillary in his fair skin, to kiss a bruise in the side of his neck and to take his svelte frame.

His day dreams were interrupted with the Inquisitor not beneath him, but sitting, riding atop the Iron Bull. Crying his name until his throat gave in. Suddenly the world was unfair because the Inquisitor brought Bull along without him. Who was his mage? Solas? Hah! The man barely knew when to throw up a barrier and had a penchant for exhausting himself with weak spells that required too much power. If the Inquisitor came back dead, he’d know who to blame.

And what did he see in the Iron Bull anyway? The man was obnoxious. At least Dorian had his wit and subtle charm. Bull was a blundering fool who preyed on everyone with his eye and probably had more venereal diseases than a harlot wench.

Dorian struck the table and his gift from Cole came rattling down. Quickly he picked it up, his little wooden duck, fond memories of his childhood. He smiled faintly, with everything going on, he still didn’t thank the Inquisitor, maybe if he left a gift for him in his quarters?

“He misses it.”

Dorian turned only to find Cole sitting on the bannister.

“Hmph. Reading my thoughts again I see.”

“You’re hurting and I want to help.”

The mage sighed, “Cole…there are some things you can’t always help with.”

“Like Rilienus?” he asked making Dorian stiffen and a weight fall into his gut.

“Thanks for the reminder.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

Cole hopped off and rubbed his arm as he searched for the right words to say since he felt Dorian’s sadness worsen, “Maybe you couldn’t help him, but it’s not late now. Don’t make this like you made with Rilienus.”

Dorian threw up his arms, “Yes of course! Brilliant idea. The evil son of a magister and the Herald of Andraste taking down Corypheus between sessions of passionate love making. Does no one see the blasphemy here?”

The spirit shook his head, his hands fidgety , “He misses having someone to talk to. Orders. Questions. So many faces, so many things I need to do. I want to help. I need to help. Even the little things. But I miss it all. Green. Home. Scent of his cologne. Must keep moving. Need to stop Corypheus. Am I being selfish?”

Dorian blinked, “That’s…what he thinks?” he heaved a breath, “Well no wonder. He’s a Dalish elf suddenly leading a group of people who think of him as a figure and not a person. And most of us are humans or city elves.”

He sank back down in his chair. He’d love to befriend the Inquisitor. Chat with him, drink with him, do the Dalish even drink? But how, how does he ask a busy man to sit down for a few hours and have companionship? Even at camp he was always doing something, always busy, always business with a few interjections of sarcasm. He knew he was the Herald and that’s all that most people saw him as.

Cole picked up a book sitting on Dorian’s desk and turned it over, then sniffed the pages which earned him a curious look from the mage, “Are you alright, Cole?”

“That’s the book the Herald was reading.”

“Yes. There was another copy here.”

Cole put it back down, “No. It’s the same book. He gave it to you while you were asleep. He wanted you to go with him, but he knows you hate the rain.” Dorian went speechless, “He likes talking about books too.”

A small smile toyed at the mage’s lips, “Thank you, Cole.”

* * *

 

It took him a week to get it right and just as he finished dotting the i in the final word of his work, the horn sounded for the Inquisitor’s arrival. Dorian blew on the ink, tried to get it to dry faster before he closed the book, pocketed it, picked up another and bounded down the stairs to the yard overlooking the castle gates. The Fereldan horses trotted through and the Inquisitor upon his armoured mount glowed in the midday sun, smiling weary at the women and men who came to welcome him back to Skyhold.

Cullen was at his side as he dismounted, “Inquisitor. It’s good to have you back.”

“And it’s good to be back. I’ve got enough rain and mud in my boots to last a lifetime.”

The commander chuckled, “I’ve already ordered the servants to draw you a warm bath. I’d imagine you’d wish to partake of that before your report.”

Sera made a childish noise as she burst into the scene behind Cullen, “Blah blah, reports, reports. Can’t you get one of them to do it? The Herald almost gets his head chopped off and you want ‘im to make a report?”

“Uh…well…”

The Inquisitor smiled, “I really don’t mind. It is my duty after all. Even though it is boring and I’d rather go back to the Fallow Mire.”

Iron Bull rolled his shoulders, “I’ll do it.”

Cullen looked to the Inquisitor and the Qunari, “Are you certain?”

“Aye…Ben Hassrath. I _live_ for reports.” He said.

Lavellan shrugged, “Seems that’s sorted.”

The commander looked to Josephine who looked reasonably indifferent, “…Very well then. I expect your report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, Cullen. I’ll be on it tonight.”

The Inquisitor muttered a thanks to Bull before hurrying off to get all the muck off his body and Sera followed, sidling up against Dorian in the upper yard who nodded at the Inquisitor in acknowledgement as he walked past.

“Well,” she sighed, “That worked out. Now about the tavern, yeah.”

“Just make sure no one bothers the Inquisitor.” He said, “And do promise to keep the earwigs away from me.”

She snorted and noticed the book in his hand, “What’s that you got?”

“Hmm? Oh, just one of the fifty-two copies of Hard in Hightown. Could you be a dear and help Cole and I hide these around the castle?”

* * *

 

Without a report to do, the Inquisitor actually had some time on his hands. Cole mentioned that he should relax in the tavern, he dropped Dorian’s name which reminded him of the gift he got from the Fallow Mire. A bottle of some sort of liquor, Garbolg’s Backcountry Reserve, it smelled as strong and rancid as it was described, but according to Blackwall, Dorian had a penchant for strong, rancid liquors, “If it’ll get him drunk faster then it’s a good one in his books.”

A little uncomfortable with bringing fuel to Dorian’s alcohol dependence, but at least it was a vintage and not the cheap ruddy stuff in the tavern. He picked up a package sitting on his couch. A warm halla hide blanket lined with plush fennec fur that he had his Keeper send: “For a friend,” he wrote, “a fellow member of the Inquisition who after two months, is the only one without a proper bed. And he hasn’t complained once.”

When he made his way up the tower, Dorian wasn’t in his little nook in the library.

“Lethalin? Have you seen Dorian?”

The elven bookkeeper scoffed, “No. And neither have I seen forty-eight of the fifty-two copies of Hard in Hightown. Can you _believe_ they’re missing?! Travesty!”

“Oh…okay then. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked back at Dorian’s desk and couldn’t find the book of poems. Dorian had probably shelved it.

He left the bottle and the package on the desk for the mage to find whenever he came back.

After supper he headed for the tavern, with Bull writing a report for Cullen, Lavellan expected it to feel more empty, but not…this empty. Only a handful of people sat in the tavern and Cabot was busy sweeping something out through the back door.

Dorian sat at a table by the wall with some cheap scotch and a book listening to Maryden’s gentle plucking. The elf joined him and the mage was silently jumping for joy.

“So, the Inquisitor finally has some time off I see.” He smirked and poured his companion a drink.

Lavellan smiled, “Oh only today. You know how it is.”

“Ah yes, inquisiting is hard work. Always running errands while saving the day. You really need to take a break more often.”

He laughed, “Says the one who overworks himself with big tomes from Tevinter.”

“Plenty of dry reading, yes, but it’s less likely to kill me than say, a darkspawn with a poisoned arrow or a rampaging demon possessed druffalo.” He took a drink then pointed to Lavellan’s untouched glass, “As often as I talk smack of the liquor here, this scotch isn’t all too bad.”

The elf looked at his drink, swirling the contents around before pushing it towards Dorian, “Sorry. I…am not in the mood.”

The mage raised a brow, “Really? You haven’t decided to join the chantry, have you?” he laughed again and Dorian’s chest warmed, “Just because they call you the Herald of Andraste doesn’t mean you have to behave like you are.”

“I know…” he picked his drink up again and downed it quickly, coughing a bit as it burned down his throat, “Eugh…You like this stuff?”

Dorian smirked, “If it’ll get me drunk before the sun shows up, it’s good enough for me.” He poured another, “You don’t drink, don’t you? I’ve never seen you at the tavern and I’ve yet to smell any alcohol on you.”

Lavellan shook his head, “Well the Dalish don’t often drink. At least, not my clan.”

“Oh?” he downed another, “What was being with your clan like? Pardon my ignorance, but you’re the first Dalish I’ve met.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised and Dorian’s heart knotted at his adorable naivety.

“Dalish elves don’t exist in Tevinter. I’m sure at some point a few were Dalish, but those are the ones who end up in noble houses as uh…comfort elves.” _Why did you have to say that?_

“Did you have a comfort elf?” Dorian looked up and the Inquisitor was…was that mischief in his eyes?

“Uh…no…But I’m not innocent of partaking of the flesh so to speak.”

“Was he your servant?”

“No…Oh Andraste bless no!”

“Someone else’s servant?”

“Yes…No! NO!” he sighed and buried his head in his hands.

Lavellan snorted, “Oh Creators…it’s been only a few minutes and I’ve learnt so much about you, Dorian.”  

The mage groaned, “You are evil and I hate you.”

“Mmm…sure.” The elf poured him a drink, “Come on, have some more. It loosens your tongue, doesn’t it?”

Dorian peeked through his fingers, “You are enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Watching you make a fool of yourself by throwing a fuss over revealing bits about your past? No…of course not. I cannot stand to watch my favourite mage suffer.”

The mage cursed himself for having his heart flutter at that statement as he tried to conceal his smile by picking up his drink, “Am I really you’re favourite?”

He thought for a moment, “Solas is a bit slow and Vivienne is more concerned about rending her garments than keeping defences up.”

“Hah! That is precious!” he cackled into his glass, “You did however forget to mention that I am the better looking mage too.”

Lavellan rolled his eyes.

They talked for some time. Minutes turning to hours and the world seemed to disappear around them. For some reason unbeknownst to the Inquisitor, few people entered the tavern during happy hour and Cabot was grumbling about earwigs. Dorian had learnt so much about the Inquisitor, but nothing at the same time. They bantered on about random topics, jumping around every which way with no direction like nervous adolescents. The Inquisitor practically glowed in the candle light and he had a smile that could light up the room.

It was a dangerous game. Every word that came out of his pouty pink lips had Dorian spiralling into an uncontrollable pit of infatuation. Dorian always fell hard and fast, especially for the wrong sorts of people. And the Inquisitor was all kinds of wrong for him. An elf - more scandal for back home - and the leader of the Inquisition meaning Dorian was toxic to him. _Just like Rilienus_.

“So…I believe you never told me why you don’t drink.” He said, trying to not look like he was getting lost in those deep blue elven eyes.

“Ah!” Lavellan cleared his throat, “The Dalish have to remain an alert people lest we are ransacked by mercenaries or Templars. Having alcoholic beverages, well, that can pose a problem.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t…” he groaned, “Especially when we were younger.”

Dorian’s interest was piqued, “Do go on.”

“When I was still training to become a rogue hunter, a group of my peers, myself and our mentor met a group of humans who were lost in the forest. They were farmers hoping to sell their season’s brew in a nearby city. They hadn’t eaten for days so we gave up our hunt for them and in exchange they gave us a casket of whiskey. And we all had too much to drink.” Lavellan blushed, “And I did a few things I regret.”

Dorian egged him on, “Like?”

He cleared his throat, “I became uh… _tainted_ that night.”

The mage snorted. “Alcohol has a tendency to do that to people. Was it you and one other or did everyone join in?”

Lavellan groaned and now he was hiding behind his hands. In all honesty, Dorian wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or impressed, “How old were you?”

“Eighteen.”

“I suppose if you were to sin in the eyes of your Elven gods you may as well make it as grand a sin as possible.” He chuckled, curling the end of his moustache, and the Inquisitor kicked him under the table, “No women in that group?”

“No…thankfully.” He looked up at Dorian, the Tevinter’s face all smug, “Yes…you were right about me.”

“I told you. I’m only going to say it in front of my father if I know it to be true. You’re painfully obvious.”

The elf shifted uncomfortably, “Well…not to everyone it seems. Some of the bar girls keep flirting with me and Iron Bull happens to be the only man who’s shown _some_ interest.”

Only Iron Bull? That was strange. Dorian _did_ try to come across as interested. Did it not work? “Yes…well, it’s not that they believe you aren’t. They just wish you weren’t.”

“What’s that book?” he asked, pointing to the item in front of Dorian.

“Oh!” the mage picked it up, “Yes this. You left it on my desk. I’ve been reading through it, hope you don’t mind. I’ve also noticed you marked the pages for some romantic poems.” He smirked, “Didn’t know you were such as sap.”

“They’re good poems…”

“I know…” he handed the book to the elf who took it, “But unfortunately this book lacked one of my favourite romantic Tevinter poems.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. You’re in luck however. I’ve memorised it, every word, and penned it on the last few pages for you.”

“Thank you.” he smiled, that warm radiant heart burning smile, “I’ll be sure to read it.”

“I didn’t know the Dalish could read the human language.”

“Generally we can’t. My clan’s a bit different from most other Dalish clans. We often traded with humans and even set up stores in small towns. It was necessary we become bilingual in all aspects.”

Dorian frowned, “How strange…You weren’t afraid of being assaulted?”

Lavellan smiled, “Our Keeper had a philosophy that if you wanted to build bridges, you need to learn forgiveness first. No one will apologise or change the way they think of the Dalish if we are hostile to them.”

That impressed Dorian and he smiled, wryly, “That…Is quite beautiful. I can see how it works.”

“I won’t lie, some humans were difficult to warm up, but a peace offering, a few kind words and expressing admiration and knowledge of the human culture was a good place to start.”

So the Inquisitor didn’t think of him as a hapless Shem - that was good. He probably has a chance with him after all, “This might be a personal question but seeing as you already know about my, uh, experience with elves and seeing as you were so close to humans…did you ever…”

“Love a human?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a one night stand, but that works wonderfully too.”

Lavellan looked away, a fond smile on his lips, “I did.” He said.

Dorian loved it when he had that look. He looked like a marble statue, so pretty, so graceful, it was a shame he turned his eyes to nothing with a gorgeous expression like that. If Dorian doesn’t survive the fight against Corypheus, he would have killed to have the Inquisitor remember him with that kind of fondness. “I’m assuming there’s an interesting story there.”

Lavellan’s expression faltered, “It didn’t last very long though.”

“All the good ones never do.”

“It’s a long story.”

Dorian looked behind the Inquisitor and up into the rafters. Cole nodded and Sera gave him a thumbs up. He went back to the man before him, “We have all night.”

“Very well…you have been warned.” He took a drink then cleared his throat, “It was maybe four years ago when I met him. I was in Lothering, a small town that was still rebuilding after the blight. Templars were everywhere helping to rebuild with the King’s troops and the new locals. If it were another time, we would have had to work especially hard to appease the Templars or the least they’ll do is take our Keeper to a Circle. But everyone was busy, the harvest for the townsfolk was poor and there was sickness everywhere. They depended on us as a source of healing herbs and these things called poultices.  
I didn’t really do much. I acted as a bodyguard for our traders so I spent much of my time in town. I usually sat by the store and read human literature that I found scattered in abandoned ruins. Then one day when I was keeping watch of the shop while the traders had lunch, this human approached and he’d always buy something, not a healing herb but one of the wood carvings we would do when there were no customers around. And he’d always come at the same time every day, always when I was keeping shop. He wouldn’t say anything. He’d always give me too much coin. Three silvers instead of two. Thirty coppers instead of twenty. Then he started trading me new books for my old ones and he spoke two words of elven to me.” Lavellan laughed, “His pronunciation was terrible, but he was very sweet. He asked me to teach him Elven. I couldn’t say no. Then he started coming at night after we closed shop. We’d walk through Lothering and I’d teach him Elven by the lake with a small oil lamp. But then-”

He sighed and Dorian frowned, “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know then and I don’t know now. I don’t think I’ll ever know.” Lavellan stood up, “Sorry Dorian, I’m feeling tired now. It’s…getting pretty late.”

Gone. Just when they were getting close too. Dorian stuck his hand in his hair, wondering where he went wrong.

“He’s hurt.”

“I can see that, Cole.” Dorian stood up, “Come. I think we’ve ruined Cabot’s career enough as it is.”

Walking back to his area in the library felt wrong. The Inquisitor…he sighed. He put him in a bad mood. _Nicely done, Dorian. Want to get to know the man and next minute you’ve opened an old wound._ He turned back and headed for the Inquisitor’s quarters. He should apologise. They were barely acquaintances and there he was poking and prodding at the poor man’s heart.

He made his way through the long windy path hanging over the corridor to the war room and rapped on the Inquisitor’s bedroom door. He waited for a bit, no answer. Of course…he was probably crying into his pillow by now.

He opened the door and slowly walked up the steps. He was terrible at comforting people.

“Inquisitor, I’m sorry about what I-”Dorian froze.

Sitting on his bed with his beige shirt open and hanging around his forearms, the Inquisitor bare chested with the Iron Bull standing before him. They looked at their intruder and the mage suddenly felt incredibly small, he needed to run and leave, but shock, anger, pride, it all stopped him.

Lavellan looked at Dorian then back at Bull, and back again and the ‘Vint could have sworn he heard it click in his head.

“Wait, no!” he got up on his feet and shucked his shirt back on, “Dorian!”

But Dorian was already backing out of the room and heading down the stairs.

“Dorian wait!”

He held up his hands, “I’m sorry Inquisitor. I didn’t mean to disturb your lovely evening.”

“Dorian-”

He left and Lavellan tried to follow after him, but Bull grabbed his arm as soon as he stepped out of the door.

“Let him.”

Angry, hurt, he flipped over his desk and tore books from shelves. Always him. He’d try so hard to be pleasant, to be charming, but instead the Inquisitor chose that filth?! He sat on the floor, heaving breaths as he tried to calm down, but then winced and pulled his hand away. A cut? There was broken glass on the floor, a bottle? Sifting through his destruction he could smell the strong alcohol and feel the liquid sliding all over the wooden floor and soaking into his rug. He managed to dig out a label, Garbolg’s Backcountry Reserve. A vintage liquor? What was that doing here? He knew the Inquisitor had a habit of collecting random bottles of liquor but-

His breaths stop. _No_ …And in that rubble he caught sight of a package, his name written in curly script that would be none other than Lavellan’s hand.

“No…” he shook his head, hands trembling as he opened it.

Inside was a plush cloth and he felt his heart sink as he opened up the small note resting atop the cloth.

_“Da’len,_

_I have made for you our warm Dalish blanket for the winter months. I hope your friend in the Inquisition finds its warmth as comforting as we do, it is the least that we can offer. It is a shame your friend is so wrapped with his work that he would sacrifice his sleeping quarters for others, but his compassion and devotion to your cause is admirable. May his service grant you strength, da’len._

_With love,  
Keeper Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan.”_

Suddenly, he felt very selfish.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry Inquisitor, but there are still forty-two books missing!”

Dorian groaned, eyes blinded by the light streaming through his window. He lifted his head off the desk, pages of the book under him sticking to his cheek. If the magisters didn’t lead such boring lives he probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep halfway through a gripping report about how many nugs the Black Divine could tuck into, and how many times he’d call a servant to help him vomit so he could eat more. The Tevinters of the past were not nearly as glamorous as they appeared.

The Inquisitor was a little frustrated, “I can just buy you more to replace the ones that were lost.”

“Absolutely not! Those copies were signed by the author himself!”

Dorian interjected, “You do realise Skyhold is home to said author.”

“Quiet Shem! I am speaking with the Inquisitor.”

The mage’s jaw dropped. He was only bitter because Dorian kept tossing all of his drivel on Divine Galatea out of _his_ bookshelves (well he more or less adopted those shelves  since they were within his living space and small study) and maybe because he may have flirted relentlessly with the elf because, well, elves.

“Hey!” The Inquisitor shouted, “I will not have you refer to my most trusted in such a derogatory matter!”

The ravens took flight and the whole tower went silent. Dorian was stunned. Slight creature, the Inquisitor, but Maker willing did he have power in his soft voice sometimes.

“I’ll find your damn books, but consider yourself warned.” He hissed before turning to Dorian who was in a daze over what just happened, “So…good morning.”

The mage stood and leant against a bookshelf, “I was worried for a moment that you might kill the poor man.”

Lavellan waved his hand, “Oh don’t mind him. I wanted to tell you about that poem.”

“You read it?”

“Yes. I…think I’ll keep the book. Least he finds out you’ve despoiled part of the library.” He shifted nervously on his feet and Dorian made a mental note that yes, the Inquisitor does get more adorable each time, “It was very nice. But I don’t understand some of it.”

“Oh?”

“What is an ‘amatus’?” the question was so genuine and innocent, yet when he said it Dorian was afraid of answering.

He was lost for words, not because the question floored him by any means, but maybe…it showed too much. He looked around, everyone seemed to be doing their own thing and didn’t pay them much mind. “It means ‘my beloved’…more or less.”

“You said you memorised the poem? So, you were in love too at some time?”

Dorian’s chest tightened and he tried to laugh it off, “Well I’m certainly no helpless romantic like yourself. I only had it in my arsenal because it was an easy way to woo good looking men out of their clothes.”

“Who wrote it?”

The mage blinked, “Uh…didn’t I write it down?”

“No you didn’t. I was hoping to find more of this poet’s work. It’s…” he sighed, “It’s really good.”

Dorian looked at him incredulously, “By how much did you like that poem?”

“Honestly, it’s my new favourite.”

“I see.” He heaved a large breath. Lavellan was so clueless and Dorian smiled, petting the Inquisitor’s cheek, a bold move no doubt, but his heart was racing, he began to sweat, “I wrote it.”

Lavellan laughed, “I’m certain you did.” He didn’t believe him? “Hey, I should go, but I hope to see you around.”

“…Yes.”

The Inquisitor did come by the next day, handing over copies of Varric’s book to the bookkeeper who reminded him that many more were still missing. The plan…worked. Lavellan would bump into Dorian who’d make some remark about the weather or how the Inquisitor kept slouching all the time. He’d smile, say something about how he spilled his tea on his reports this morning and Dorian would do a little segue into how obviously attractive he is making the Herald laugh and say “Please Dorian…never change.”

He was happier, especially after they ventured to the Hinterlands and Lavellan found some Tevinter brandy and gave Dorian a knowing glance when he did so.

“Hey boss? Good place to set up camp.” Bull said, slinging a few dead outlaws over his shoulder to throw them off the cliff.

The Inquisitor nodded, “Let’s get started then.”

“I’ll go let the scouts know. The path back should be clear enough with a mount.”

“You sure?”

The Qunari puffed his chest, “Nothing the Iron Bull can’t handle.”

Dorian groaned. Did he always have to be so… _cheesy_ when he gloated? Needless to say, his feelings towards Bull were still many miles away from positive and the envy ate at him. He and Solas set up the tents while the Inquisitor went to hunt their meal. Solas was an interesting one. They had an interesting 'friendship', always making jabs at each other on their travels, but the Elven mage preferred to be withdrawn and normally kept to himself.

With the Herald leaving the two of them alone, Solas smiled.

“Jealousy.” He said and the human paused midway in hammering down a post.

“Do you have something to say?”

He shook his head, “Not really. But I question just how friendly your friendly fire gets sometimes.”

Dorian laughed, “So…someone actually noticed.”

“The Herald notices too.”  Silence. The human goes back to erecting tents. “You are fond of him, are you not?”

“Of Iron Bull? By Andraste…I’d much rather be expunging pointy shards of red lyrium from my rectum than manhandled by that brute.”

“I meant the Inquisitor.” Pause again. Resume tent building.

“Interesting hypothesis. And what, pray tell, makes you think that?”

“Cole told me.” Dorian slapped a palm to his face and muttered something rude in Tevene, “But I already knew.”

“You already knew?”

“I do spend most of my time in the level below you. You have a habit of pacing when the Inquisitor is in the library. And you’re questions about the Dalish have been telling.”

Dorian quirked a brow, “ _Telling_? Am I forbidden to learn about a group of elves who do not exist in my homeland?”

“Oh no. But most people don’t ask about Dalish sexual behaviour and courting first. Usually they start with, say…the vallaslin or why are elves so much smaller than humans.”

The Tevinter threw his tools down, “Yes, alright. I am a little too fond of him. It’s really difficult to not be.”

“I understand. But you might want to consider telling him. He can’t read your thoughts like Cole.”

They feasted on some ram meat cooked over their camp fire. Bull was still gone and the Inquisitor was tired, slowly drifting off as they all gazed up at the stars and he and Solas talked about the Elven constellations with Dorian keenly listening. Before they knew it, the Herald was sleeping peacefully in the grass.

Solas stood and stretched, “You should take him to a tent, least he have a chill. It is a cold night.”

Dorian didn’t need to be told, but disturbing the man’s rest was difficult. He scooped the elf up, so light in his arms, and carried him inside a tent. It was cold, the southern wind blew strongly making the tent walls sway. The Inquisitor turned about in his rest and Dorian found it hard to leave him alone.

“Stay with me,” he mumbled.

“But you and Bull…”

The elf mumbled something Elven and pulled the mage down to lie beside him. “You’re warm.” He said, cosying up against the human and drawing the blankets over them.

Shock was what he felt. Along with a mixture of not knowing what to do and not knowing how he got into that position. The Inquisitor was warm, his body deliciously inviting against the winter chill, so he stayed. And shifted. His male body responding to their close proximity unfavourably.

The scent of his hair, the touch of his soft skin, the ebb of his chest expanding as he breathed. He couldn’t take it. Exiting the tent, he hoped the cold air would calm him down, but instead it bit sharply enough that his arousal grew more painful.

“ _Venhedis_!” he swore between gritted teeth as he tried to rearrange himself more comfortably, but the motion shot pleasure through his body that made his knees weak.

He had to do it. Shameful as it was being so turned on by the last holy hope of Thedas. With the Maker judging him from above, Dorian stood against the rocky side of the mountain, away from the tents least they hear his shame. One hand on the wall, the other wrapped around his cock, stroking himself firmly as his imagination weaved together images of the Inquisitor’s hands, lightly calloused from wielding daggers, yet still unexpectedly soft, pumping Dorian’s hard, searing flesh. His plump, pouty lips, glistening with a sheen from a sloppy, heated kiss, peppered kisses around the red tip of the mage’s member.

Dorian’s breathing became ragged, his hand moving faster as he grew more desperate and his fantasies became more sacrilegious. Of the Inquisitor lying down, legs spread with the most alluring look in his eyes. The way he’d moan Dorian’s name and curse the Elven gods as the mage committed divine crimes with his tongue to the elf’s puckered entrance. It was the look on the Herald’s face when Dorian pushed his tongue inside him and the walls collapsed on the intruding appendage that made him explode on the stone - on the Inquisitor’s alluring face. Grunting as he came, he muttered “Lavellan.” His legs quivered as his whole body shook from orgasm, feeling like the world was going to swallow him whole as he squeezed the final drops into imaginary Lavellan’s open mouth.

“Wow.”

Dorian straightened up and saw Bull staring at him and the mess on the wall amused. The mage glared and tucked himself into his pants, “How long have you been watching me?!” he hissed.

Bull grinned “Long enough to enjoy the show.”

“ _Kaffas_!”

The qunari laughed, “No shame. You put on a good show. Too bad the Inquisitor missed out.”

The mage glowered, swore some more Tevene, called Bull out on his pervertedness.

“Not my fault. I ride up into camp and there you are, rubbing it out in plain sight.”

“You didn’t have the decency to warn me you were around?”

“And miss the show?” he laughed and Dorian headed for his tent, ready to wallow in his shame. Now Bull knows he lusts for the Inquisitor…

But before he could vanish, Bull stopped him, “Hey uh...’Vint?”

“What?” Dorian snapped.

“He never wanted to ride the Bull.”

* * *

 

“What?!”

“They’ve gone missing again!”

Dorian looked up from his book on Dalish culture to find the Inquisitor and the bookkeeper arguing.

“So I have to find them again…”

“All fifty-two this time. And yes, since no one else would do it.”

“Can’t you?”

“What? And leave these books unsupervised? If I go looking for these the whole library would be gone by the time I get back!”

The Inquisitor grit his teeth and stormed off only to be stopped by Dorian.

“Fiery exchange. Well done.” He smiled, charmingly of course.

Lavellan sighed, “Just when I thought Skyhold was in order too…Now I have to find fifty-two copies of Hard in Hightown scattered around here...somewhere. How have you been lately?”

“Fine.” He said curtly, cursing the Maker for this fate, “Can you excuse me for a moment, Inquisitor? I have an errand to attend.”

Before the elf could say anything, Dorian was hurrying down the stairs and out the castle. Scout Harding waved at him, but stopped midway as he pushed past her and went after the rogue boy.

“Cole!” he shouted and the spirit was startled as the mage bounded towards him, livid, “Were you the one who moved the books around the castle?”

Cole beamed, “It’s working. You’re happier now.”

If he didn’t see the boy as the younger brother he never had, Dorian would have thrown him over the banister to the bottom floor of the tavern.

“The Inquisitor has more important matters to deal with than…finding fifty-two copies of Hard in Hightown!”

“Why are you mad at me? I’m only trying to help.”

Dorian sank back against the wall. He gave up. “I’m being selfish aren’t I? Making the Inquisitor run a petty errand just so I could see him more often.”

Cole tilted his head to the side, “How is it petty?”

“Well it’s barely related to saving the world from Corypheus, which is what the Inquisitor should be working on. Not…finding copies of Varric’s books!”

“But it isn’t petty. The Inquisitor doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s a good distraction from his responsibilities.”

“Well if your job is to save the world from an immortal darkspawn magister, I think distraction is the last thing you need.”

“But he likes it. He likes to have an excuse to see you.”

Dorian looked up, “What did you say?”

“He likes to have an excuse to see you.”

His breath hitched, “Really?”

Cole thought for a moment, “He would say yes.”

So the evil son of a Tevinter magister was on the Inquisitor’s good side? “Say Cole…would he say yes if I invited him to a drink at the tavern again?”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write porn, but all I got was sap. Apologies.


End file.
